Amanda Bynes (Talking About Ex): They probably broke up eight months ago, but her therapist is in Aruba, and her Uber driver Damien is the next best thing. Does her Uber driver know who Abby is? Absolutely fucking not. But for the next seventeen minutes, he’s about to hear a monologue pertaining to how fake she is. Her friend that left the bar with her is trying to console her, and it’s not helping. This is the Astroworld of Uber drives. This is The White House Down of mental stability. She will not tip him, but she’s one-hundred-percent going to take his words you shouldn’t let him treat you like that to heart.
Barf Bag: Maybe it’s a guy who just drank on Accutane, maybe it’s a girl in Zebra print who thought she could handle that fifth Lemon Drop; hell, it could even be that one guy in your friend group that goes out once every two months. The whole car thought he was fine going in, but he’s been burping at the rate a guy in finance uses the word consolidate casual conversation. If he gets out in time, you have a passive-aggressive Uber driver until you get to your destination; if he doesn’t, this Honda Civic is about to have its own version of the Space Shuttle Challenger disaster but with Rice and Chicken.
The Talker: This guy hopped in and immediately thought he was in a meeting with The Continent Congress. It doesn’t matter that his fifty-seven-year-old driver wants to make one last drop off and head home; he thinks he’s at a TedX conference about Oil. The rest of the car hates him. He’s asking more questions than a kid in school trying to hit his participation benchmark on the first day of classes. Don’t be this fucking guy.
Carmelo Xanthony: This dude has been babysat all night. He’s spewing nonsense, in-and-out of consciousness and the Groupchat is debating taking him to the hospital. He thought he could handle the ‘ole Rusty Ranks Beers 12 and a Qweeb, but that combo Nate Diazed the fuck out of him. For the love of God, we all pray that a friend accompanied this guy, because if that isn’t the case, Shawn (spelled S-H-A-W-N) is going to be carrying him to his apartment.
The Taco Bell Assassin: The agent Cody Banks of Taco Bell. It doesn’t matter how it happens or who gets hurt; this person wants to inject spicy ranch into their veins. This is a unisex position. It doesn’t matter how much the extra stop is going to be. The person in the back seat is willing to cut off their limbs and donate them to Yemen for a Cheesy Gordita Crunch. The rest of the car may be hesitant, but they will thank she/he/they/whatever the fuck later.
Miles Teller In Project X: This guy is feeling like the man. He may or may not be getting an OTPHJ in the backseat, and from the way the conversation is going, he’s going to be getting a lot more than that when she sees his sheets that haven’t been washed since the last time the Bills took the field. On paper, he might be a below-average person; in fact, this might be the hottest girl he’s ever had the company of bringing back. But in this moment, this one shining moment, he is Miles Teller in Project X. He is the fucking man.
The Cold War Couple: Maybe she got a little too flirty with a guy she used to see a few years ago, maybe he got a little balsley and told her friend that dying her hair Silver wasn’t the best post-breakup look…whatever it may be, the back of this Buick is tenser than a family watching the American Pie scene with the foreign girl during family night. The guy got in and said “For *insert name her*?” and for the last seven minutes not a word has been said. She keeps sighing, arm-folded and looking out the window, he’s clearly on Twitter-there’s definitely some trouble in paradise for these two lovebirds.
